French's International Copyrighted (in England, her Col- 
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No. 451 



The Widow Might 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

BY 
NATHANIEL LADD FOSTER 

Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 
All Rights Reserved 



CAUTION— Professionals and amateurs are hereby 
warned that "The Widow Might," being fully pro- 
tected under the copyright laws of the United 
States of America and Great Britain, is subject to 
a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without 
the consent of the author or his authorized agents 
will be liable to the penalties by law provided. 
Applications for the acting rights must be made to 
Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New 
York, N. Y. 



Price 30 Cents 



NEW YORK 

Samuel French 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



LONDON 

Samuel French, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

Strand 



r„iiiiiiiiiiiimm»mmmiimmii iiimiimiiimmmiiiiiiimiimiiiiiiiimiimiimiiimiiiiiiimiiimiiimimmuimuiiiimiimmiiii: 



The Charm School 

A fascinating comedy in three acts by Alice Duer Mill- 
er and Robert Milton. 6 males, 10 females. (May be 
played by 5 males and 8 females). Any number of school 
girls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, two inter- 
iors. Costumes, modern. Plays 2*/2 hours. 

The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. 
Miller's readers. It relates the adventures of a hand- 
some young automobile salesman scarcely out of his 
'teens who, upon inheriting a girl's boarding school from 
a maiden aunt, insists on running it himself, according to 
his own ideas," chief of which is, by the way, that the 
dominant feature in the education of the young girl of 
today should be CHARM. 

The situations that arise are teeming with humor — 
clean, wholesome humor. In the end the young man 
gives up the school and promises to wait until the most 
precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. 

"The Charm School" has the freshness of youth, the 
inspiration of an extravagant but novel idea, the charm 
of originality, and the promise of wholesome, sanely 
amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly recom- 
mend it for high school production. 

"The Charm School" was first produced at the Bijou 
Theatre, New York, and then toured the country. Two 
companies are now playing it in England. Price, 75 cents. 

Daddy Long- Legs 

A charming comedy in four acts, by Jean Webster. 
The full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, 
but the play, by the easy doubling of some of the char- 
acters may be played by 4 males, 4 females and three 
orphans. The orphans appear only in the first act and 
may be played by small girls of any age. Four easy 
interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. 

The New York Times reviewer, on the hiorning fol- 
lowing the Broadway production, wrote the following 
comment: 

"If you will take your pencil and write down, one be- 
low the other, the words delightful, charming, sweet, 
beautiful and entertaining, and then draw a line and 
add them up, the answer will be 'Daddy Long-Legs.' 
To that result you might even add brilliant, pathetic 
and humorous, but the answer even then would be just 
what it was before — the play which Miss Jean Webster 
has made from her book, 'Daddy Long-Legs,' and which 
was presented at the Gaietv last night. To attempt to 
describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long-Legs' 
would be like attempting to describe the first breath of 
Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter." 

"Daddy Long-Legs" enjoyed a two-years' run in New 
York and was then toured for over three years, and is 
now published in play form for the first time. 

Price, 75 cents. 

(The Abovp Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 

SAMUEL, FRENCH, 28-30 West 3Sth Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed 

Free on Request 



The Widow Might 



A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 



By 
NATHANIEL LADD FOSTER 



Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 
All Rights Reserved 



CAUTION — Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that "The Widow Might," being fully protected under the 
copyright laws of the United States of America and 
Great Britain, is subject to a royalty, and anyone pre- 
senting the play without the consent of the author or 
his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by 
law provided. Applications for the acting rights must 
be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York, N. Y. 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 









"The Widow Might" is fully protected by copyright 
and all rights are reserved. 

Permission to act, to read publicly, or to make any use of 
this play must be obtained from Samuel French, 28-30 West 
38th Street, New York. 

It may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty 
of five dollars for each performance, payable to Samuel 
French one week before the date when the play is given. 

Professional rates quoted on application. 

Whenever this play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play: 
"Produced by special arrangement with Samuel Frencl) of 
New York." 



©CI.D H3351 



TMP92-009355 

m 1 1 * 



I 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Mr. Upton Jenkins 
Mr. Peter Peters 
Mrs. Chase 
Julia 



The Widow Might 

Scene : Mrs. Chase's sitting-room in her city apart- 
ment. Entrance door at right center; two doors 
at left, one leading into bedroom and the other 
into bathroom. Bookcase at rear, small desk at 
right, zvitli telephone on it. Divan at right cen- 
ter. Table and chairs. 

At Rise of curtain Mrs. Chase is discovered in a 
dainty and alluring pajama suit trying to stand 
on her hands. She is a good-looking woman of 
about thirty-five. 

Time: Adorning. 

(Enter Julia, right center. She is middle-aged, 
with a rather inquisitive, eager expression.) 

Julia. Mr. Jenkins has called, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. Mr. Jenkins? 

Julia. (Reading card) Mr. Up Mr. Upton 

Jenkins, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. Heavens ! How inopportune. (Sits 
in chair.) I wonder why he has called at this hour. 

Julia. If you don't mind my saying so, he seemed 
as you might say flustered, and breathing a bit fast. 

Mrs. Chase. Well, I suppose I must see him. It's 
a little annoying, just as I seemed to be getting it. 
I must be able to walk on my hands or I can't get 
that part. Of course, it's only small-time stuff, but 
for a poor widow with a lovely daughter every lit- 
tle bit helps. Julia, would you just hold my ankles 

5 



6 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

a moment? I want to try it once more. Then I'll 
change. I must get this. 

Julia. (Doubtfully) He seemed in quite a hurry, 
ma'am. 

fJuLiA reluctantly grasps her mistress' ankles, and 
Mrs. Chase with her help stands on her hands. 
At the moment Jenkins enters, looks at the 
scene in amazement , and backs hastily out.) 

Mrs. Chase. (Whose back was turned) Who was 
that? (Rises.) 

Julia. Mr. Jenkins. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, Lord ! Do you think he recog- 
nized me? 

Julia. I can't say for certain, ma'am ; but he 
didn't stay long, so maybe he didn't. 

Mrs. Chase. (Reflectively) He has never seen 
me upside down before. I wonder if I look bad 
that way. In any case, I think it's better that he 
should not know what I'm doing yet. Julia, you 
must go and excuse yourself and tell him it was a 
friend of yours who is practicing for the circus. Say 
I've just got up and will be ready to receive him in 
a few minutes. He can wait here. 

Julia. All right, ma'am. (Starts to go.) 

Mrs. Chase. And Julia. 

Julia. (Turning back) Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. I wanted to ask you — that is, do 
you think you would like to stay with me if — that is, 
if I should get married? 

Julia. Oh, ma'am, are you going to get married ? 

Mrs. Chase. Yes, I might. 

Julia. Who, ma'am? 

Mrs. Chase. I don't know yet. It may be sev- 
eral. 

Julia. Excuse me, ma'am, but isn't that against 
the law? 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 7 

Mrs. Chase. I mean, it may be any one of sev- 
eral. 

Julia. Oh, yes, ma'am. I'd stay. And if you'll 
excuse my saying so, I think it would be a good thing 
for us both. And then there's Katherine, the blessed 
lamb. 

Mrs. Chase. (Reflectively) Yes, there's Kath- 
erine. That's one reason. I wouldn't want her to be 
married first. A widow makes such a poor mother- 
in-law. 

Julia. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. You may show Mr. Jenkins in. 

Julia. (Goes out) I wonder if it's he. 

^Mrs. Chase goes into bedroom and Julia soon re- 
enters, followed by Jenkins. The latter is a 
rather thin, quick-moving, slightly pompous man 
of about forty-five, with short side whiskers. 
He is dressed in a dark business suit, and carries 
derby hat in hand.) 

Jenkins. (Apologetically) I trust I haven't dis- 
turbed your mistress. I realize that this is an un- 
usual hour for a call. 

Julia. (Dubiously) Yes, sir — I mean, no, sir. 

Jenkins. (Nervously) And, Julia. Can you tell 
me whether Mr. — er — Mr. — er — Peters has called re- 
cently? Has he been here this morning? 

Julia. No, sir. He was here last night, sir. 

Jenkins. Last night ! I feared so. And can you 
tell me — that is — I was waiting to see him at the 
club, and wondered why he did not turn up. I sup- 
pose he was here pretty late? 

Julia. I don't know, sir. I went to bed at twelve. 

Jenkins. My God! Excuse me, I mean, Good 
Lord. 

Julia. I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't help it. 

Jenkins. Help it? Oh. no — of course not. I 



8 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

certainly didn't expect you to send Mr. Peters home. 
I was just wondering. (Hesitates.) I suppose, 
Julia, you haven't happened to hear anything that 
would indicate — that is, you haven't seen any indica- 
tion that would indicate — I mean — dear me — I must 
make myself clearer. You haven't observed any- 
thing that would lead you to suppose that she has any 
serious thoughts in respect to Mr. Peters? 

Julia. Well, Mr. Jenkins, begging your pardon. 
Of course I know my place, I hope, and never hear 
anything that's not meant for my ears — if I can help 
it. But I did hear her say my dear Peter, or else 
my dear Mr. Peters. I'm not just sure. 

Jenkins. Dear me. How inconvenient that his 
first name is Peter. Still, it can't be helped. 

Julia. No, sir, I don't suppose it can. 

Jenkins. (Almost blushingly, as Julia turns to 
go out) And there's one other thing, Julia. (Fum- 
bles in his pocketbook nervously.) I've been coming 
here for quite a long time. 

Julia. (Looking hopefully at pocketbook) You 
might say so, sir, although I'm sure there's no one 
been more welcome. 

Jenkins. (Eagerly) You think so? That's just 
what I was wondering. (Produces five dollar bill 
and hands it to her awkwardly.) I've been meaning 
to give you some little remembrance for some time. 
I had intended it for last Christmas, but it slipped 
my mind. You have had to go to the door to answer 
my ring a good many times, and I wanted to do a 
little something for you — not much, to be sure. I 
wish I could make it more. 

Julia. Thank you, sir, I wish you could — I mean, 
thank you. 

Jenkins. (Taking out another five dollar bill) On 
second thought, Julia, I think I'll add this. There 
are so many more things you can get for ten dollars. 

Julia. I'm sure I can't thank you enough, sir. I 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 9 

never expected anything. Tf I hear the mistress say 
anything that you might like to hear — I mean, of 
course, without listening, as you might say 

Jenkins. Of course. Of course. I quite under- 
stand. I'm sure I'll appreciate it. You certainly arc 
a very bright girl, to be sure. 

Julia. Yes, sir. And thank you again, sir. (Goes 
out.) 

Mrs. Chase. (Entering left center. She is dressed 
in becoming morning gown) Good-morning, Mr. 
Jenkins. 

Jenkins. (Turning hastily) Good-morning, good- 
morning, Mrs. Chase. It is assuredly a delightful 
morning, is it not? 

Mrs. Chase. (Smiling) I suppose it is, although 
it's raining. 

Jenkins. So it is, to be sure. I had quite for- 
gotten. (With sudden inspiration.) Perhaps — er — 
perhaps, Mrs. Chase, it's because it always seems 
bright and fair — that is, you make everything seem 
fairly bright — I mean 

Mrs. Chase. (Coming to his rescue) Why, I've 
never known you to be so gallant. And on a rainy 
morning, too. How nice of you to come in the 
morning. 

Jenkins. I must apologize for coming at this 
hour, but — well, I felt it was urgent. You see 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, you're going on that California 
trip, after all ? 

Jenkins. Oh, no. It's not that. Nothing like 
that, in fact. Quite different, I assure you. (Walks 
nervously up and dozvn.) 

Mrs. Chase. (With pretended alarm) You've 
come to tell me you've got some fatal disease. I 
felt a foreboding this morning, and yesterday I was 
reading a story by Conan Doyle, I think it was — 
about a man who felt a curious tingling sensation 
in the tip of his tongue, and realized that it was the 



io THE WIDOW MIGHT 

beginning of a fatal disease. Is your tongue tin- 
gling ? Please put it out. Let me see. 

Jenkins. No, no, Mrs. Chase. I'm as sound as 
ever, except 

Mrs. Chase. Except what? Please put out your 
tongue. I can't tell you how concerned I am. 

Jenkins. (Reluctantly putting out tongue) 
There's really nothing, I assure you. But I'm very 
happy that you should be concerned. 

Mrs. Chase. Now, please, I can't see it plainly if 
you continue to talk. There. That's better. The 
tip seems very red. I wonder if that's a bad sign? 

Jenkins. I'm sure I'm quite well. But I'm so 
glad you care. I suppose — I suppose you can have 
no idea why I came at this unusual hour. 

Mrs. Chase. Not an idea, now that I find you 
perhaps have no fatal disease. 

Jenkins. It's — it's well (Desperately.) I 

must speak. I want you to marry me, Amelia. 

Mrs. Chase. (With appearance of surprise) How 
stupid of me. I ought to have known. Really, I'm 
discouraged at myself. I might as well never have 
been married. 

Jenkins. (Eagerly and nervously) Then I may 
hope? 

Jenkins. Hope? About what? Oh, you must 
forgive me. I was thinking of poor dear Fred. This 
is the anniversary of his first proposal. 

Jenkins. How inopportune. Another time then, 
dear Mrs. Chase. I should not wish to intrude upon 
your 

Mrs. Chase. No. No. Not at all. I wasn't sen- 
timentalizing. Our married life was far from per- 
fect. Dear Fred's disposition. 

Jenkins. I think I may say without undue vanity 
that my disposition is of the best. Moreover, I have 
acquired a considerable fortune. 

Mrs. Chase. How interesting. I didn't know. I 



THE WIDOW MIGHT n 

seldom give money a thought. Still, it's nice to have. 
How much have you got? 

Jenkins. (Surprised) Really, I don't exactly— 
I didn't refer to it except incidentally. I may say, 
however, that I'm worth at least three hundred 
thousand. 

Mrs. Chase. How splendid! Let's see, that 
would make just a hundred and fifty thousand 
apiece. 

Jenkins. I beg your pardon? 

Mrs. Chase. Oh ! Of course you might not in- 
tend to divide it at all. 

Jenkins. (Somewhat bewildered, but still eager) 

Why, yes That is, I'll make some arrangement 

that will be entirely satisfactory, I'm sure. Probably 
not an equal division. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, no ! I should hardly feel jus- 
tified in taking more than half. 

Jenkins. (Much embarrassed) Well — er — I 
didn't mean That is, I thought perhaps one- 
third 

Mrs. Chase. Could you get along on that ? 

Jenkins. I thought perhaps you could. I suppose 
your late husband left you something? 

Mrs. Chase. Yes, about fifty thousand dollars. I 
suppose it would be only fair to divide that, too. 
Shall we separate it into thirds? 

Jenkins. Oh, I wasn't meaning to suggest any- 
thing of that sort. I 

Mrs. Chase. No, of course not. I have an idea ! 
We could place my fortune in trust for the children, 
and use yours for ourselves. 

Jenkins. (Embarrassed) The children? 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, I mean your children and mine 
— not ours, in case 

Jenkins. Of course, to be sure. In case 

Then you mean you've decided to accept? 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, please give me a little time, 



12 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

Upton. I was just thinking of the possibilities of 
the future, in case I were able 

Jenkins. (Bracing himself) You mean there's 
someone else you are considering? (Walking about.) 
I had feared it. 

Mrs. Chase. But I haven't said there's any one. 

Jenkins. (Joyfully) My dear Amelia! I'm so 
glad. . 

Mrs. Chase. Please, Upton. You are so im- 
petuous this morning. I must have time to consider. 
The whole thing is so unexpected. 

Jenkins. Tell me one thing. Is Mr. Peters 

Mrs. Chase. Mr. Peters? Why, do you think 
he wants to marry me? 

Jenkins. (Regretting his mistake) No, no. Cer- 
tainly not. Not at all. 

Mrs. Chase. How do you know he doesn't want 
to marry me? 

Jenkins. You must excuse me, Amelia. I'm very 
nervous and excited this morning. Of course he 
wants to marry you. 

Mrs. Chase. You're sure? Has he said any- 
thing to you about it? What did he say? 

Jenkins. (In despair) No, indeed. I didn't 
mean anything like that. I just meant that any man 
must want to marry you. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh. Then he does, doesn't he? 

Jenkins. Speaking about Mr. Peters. There are 
certain considerations I ought to point out with re- 
spect to him. As you know, he is a bachelor used 
to his own w,ays, and used to being considered first 
in everything. I fear the fact of your former mar- 
riage might tend to make things complicated. He 
would continually feel that you were comparing him 
to your late husband. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, there's no comparison. , 

Jenkins. You mean 

Mrs. Chase. I'm sure Peter's ways will be 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 13 

Jenkins. (Alarmed) Will be? 

Mrs. Chase. I mean would be, of course. And 
now, Upton, I feel that I must be alone. You can- 
not know a woman's feelings in such a crisis. I hope 
you understand how much I appreciate the honor 
you have done me. 

Jenkins. And you will give my suit serious con- 
sideration, my dear Mrs. — I mean, Amelia? 

Mrs. Chase. Most serious, I can assure you. 

Jenkins. And I may hope? 

Mrs. Chase. (Smiling enigmatically) I can see 
no objection. 

Jenkins. (Making awkzvard attempt to kiss her 
hand, and then turning hastily to door zvith hat in 
hand) Good-bye — Amelia. 

Mrs. Chase. Good-bye. 

(As he goes out, Julia enters right center, bearing 
a tray containing a card. He makes an impul- 
sive attempt to read card, but is prevented by 
Julia, and desists guiltily.) 

Julia. Mr. Peters is calling, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. Mr. Peters? How astonishing! 
Julia, what day is this? 

Julia. I think it's the twelfth of October. 

Mrs. Chase. Is that any holiday, or anyone's 
birthday, or anything, Julia? 

Julia. I think, ma'am, if you'll excuse my saying 
so, it's your birthday, and something about Colum- 
bus, too. 

Mrs. Chase. It can't be my birthday. Yes, I 
fear it is. Heavens! How^time is racing. 

Julia. If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I will say 
as how you don't look a day over twenty-five. 

Mrs. Chase. (Delighted) Julia, you are a jewel. 
Let me see, how long has it been since your wages 
were raised? 



i 4 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

Julia. Two years last July, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. Then, if you'll remind me on the 
fourth of next July, I will arrange for an advance. 
It's so much easier to remember if advances and 
such things are made on anniversaries. • 

Julia. That's very kind, I'm sure. Although I 
will say I have a very strong memory for such things. 
Shall I show Mr. Peters in? 

Mrs. Chase. Dear me, of course. I had almost 
forgotten. (Notices that Julia hesitates.) Is there 
anything you want to say, Julia? Don't hesitate if 
there is. You've been with me for a long time. 

Julia. If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I was just 
thinking that, as for me, I like Mr. Jenkins the best. 

Mrs. Chase. (Interested) Really. And just 
why, Julia? 

Julia. Well, I don't know. He seems more set- 
tled down like, and steadier, and I should think like 
enough more generous. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh ! Has he given any demonstra- 
tion of his generosity? 

Julia. (Hastily) I didn't mean that, ma'am 

Not to speak of. But he seems that way. 

Mrs. Chase. Very well, Julia. You may show 
Mr. Peters in. 

Julia. Yes, ma'am. (Exits, right rear.) 

Mrs. Chase. (To herself) I wonder what Peter 
can have in mind. He can't know it's my birthday, 
I hope. No, he's much too tactful. 

(Enter Julia, followed by Peters. He is a zvell- 
preserved man of the world, about forty, with 
a very slight tendency to stoutness, but still of 
an athletic figure.) 

Julia. Mr. Peters, ma'am. (Goes out.) 
Peters. (Presenting her with large bunch of vio- 
lets, and bending gracefully over her hand) For you, 
donna mia. 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 15 

Mrs. Chase. How nice of you, Peter. How did 
you happen to present me with violets to-day? 

Peters. What could be more inevitable? I just 
happened to see them and they looked so much like 
you. 

Mrs. Chase. How sweet of you. I thought at 
first it might be some holiday. 

Peters. It is Columbus Day, I believe, but 

Mrs. Chase. How very patriotic. Peter. And I 
thought you didn't even take the trouble to vote. Are 
you sure it's Columbus Day? What did Columbus 
do on his day, anyhow? 

Peters. Why, he sailed from Spain or some such 
country, I believe. It dosn't matter, does it? And 
about my voting. I believe in voting. Think it's a 
duty and that sort of thing. But one is so often 
away on the Tuesdays following first Mondays. 
However, my special reason for calling this morn- 
ing has nothing to do with Columbus, or Italy, or 
Spain 

(Telephone rings and Julia enters and answers it.) 

Julia. Mr. Jenkins is at the telephone, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. How unusual. Will you excuse me 
for a few moments, Peter? I will take it in the other 
room, Julia. (Exits left center.) 

Peters. (An idea striking hint as Julia is go- 
ing out) I say, Julia. 

Julia. (Tiirning back) Yes, sir? 

Peters. Julia, I've been calling here for quite a 
time, I believe. 

Julia. (Expectantly) Why, yes, sir, I believe 
you have ; though I'm sure you're always welcome. 

Peters. You think so? 

Julia. I'm quite sure, sir. 

Peters. I've noticed before that you are a very 
observant girl, Julia, and I was intending to make 



16 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

you a little gift last Christmas, but I was called out 
of town unexpectedly. 

Julia. (Astonished) Why, sir, that's almost 
what Mr. Jenkins said. 

Peters. Jenkins? Was he here to-day? 

Julia. He just left, sir. 

Peters. (Taking a twenty-dollar bill from pocket- 
book and presenting it to her with an accustomed 
air) I didn't know Jenkins came here. Perhaps this 
was on business ? 

Julia. I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think it was 
business, as you might say. I don't know for sure, 
of course, but a girl can't help seeing some things. 
Oh, sir, I'm afraid twenty dollars is too much. 

Peters. Of course not. Now, if you should 

^Mrs. Chase re-enters, and Julia hastily puts bill 
into pocket and starts for door.) 

Mrs. Chase. Well, Julia, you seem to have been 
entertaining Mr. Peters quite successfully. 

Peters. I was inquiring about her mother, Amelia. 
You know my mother takes quite an interest in her. 

Mrs. Chase. Why, Julia, I thought your mother 
was dead. Didn't you get two days off last spring 
on that account? 

Julia. Well, no, ma'am, she didn't exactly die 
that time. We thought she was going to, but she 
has such a constitution, as you might say. 

Mrs. Chase. Very well, Julia. I'm glad she was 
spared to you. Nothing further now. (Exit Julia J 

Peters. Quite a bright girl, that. 

Mrs. Chase. Yes, Peter, she has quite a bit of 
information about a number of things, I fancy. 

Peters. That sounds subtle, or sinister, or some- 
thing, Amelia. Anyhow, I don't mind admitting that 
she let fall the information that Jenkins — Up Jen- 
kins, as they call him at the club, was here before me. 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 17 

Now, Amelia, I've nothing very serious against Jen- 
kins so long as I don't have to see him, but as an old 
friend, I must urge you not to consider him in any 
serious light. Probably you haven't, anyhow. I 
could hardly imagine it. I fancy he called on busi- 
ness. 

Mrs. Chase. He's a manufacturer of baby car- 
riages, isn't he? 

Peters. Yes, but what of it? You haven't any 
babies. 

Mrs. Chase. No, not at present. Anyway, it 
seems to be a profitable business. He told me he 
was worth three hundred thousand dollars, and had 
a good disposition. 

Peters. What execrable taste. And I don't be- 
lieve he's worth a cent over a quarter of a million. 
As to his disposition, how could he have any left 
after living with that wife of his for sixteen years, 
even if he had one to start with, which I'll wager 
he didn't. 

Mrs. Chase. It's only fair to say, Peter, that he 
wasn't exactly boasting about his wealth or his dis- 
position. He was just arguing. 

Peters. Arguing? What? 

Mrs. Chase. What is the matter with you to- 
day, Peter? You seem unusually truculent. I fear 
your disposition 

Peters. (Getting up and going over to Mrs. 
Chase) No wonder I'm truculent, Amelia. The 
mere idea of that man Jenkins 

Mrs. Chase. Now, Peter, please sit down here. 
(Indicates chair opposite her.) Let's consider this 
matter. Here was I in my pajamas innocently try- 
ing to walk on my hands and perform other desir- 
able exercises for the benefit of my future life — on 
earth, I mean — when in comes Mr. Jenkins. 

Peters. I don't doubt it. He wouldn't have the 
decency to have himself announced. 



18 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, it probably wasn't his fault. 
Moreover, he rushed out immediately at the sight of 
my costume. 

Peters. The idiot! 

Mrs. Chase. You need not go on, Peter. Al- 
though it's true I don't look so bad in my ah — ah — 
costume. 

Peters. By Jove ! I should say not. And that 
reminds me that I came here this morning to ask you 
just one simple question, and not to discuss that im- 
possible Jenkins, Amelia 

Mrs. Chase. Peter! You aren't going to pro- 
pose, and spoil this delightful conversation, to say 
nothing of 

Peters. (Somewhat indignantly) Why not? You 
know perfectly well we are absolutely suited to each 
other in all kinds of ways — even if I haven't got 
three hundred thousand. 

Mrs. Chase. But, Peter, I thought you had. Not 
that it is essential. I seldom think of it — except 
when I need it. But I need it so often. I fear we'd 
both miss it. 

Peters. It is convenient, I'll admit. I believe in 
frankness, especially with you, and I was going to 
tell you that I've dropped about half my money dur- 
ing the past few months. I thought the slump was 
going to end sooner, and acted accordingly. 

Mrs. Chase. (Reflectively) Perhaps that's what 
Mr. Jenkins meant about your disposition 

Peters. Do you mean to tell me that ridiculous — 
Did he have the effrontery to say my disposition- 



Mrs. Chase. Calm yourself, Peter, or you'll 
prove the truth of his suggestion. 

Peters. Amelia, I simply won't stand this. (Takes 
both her hands firmly.) You know you wouldn't 
really consider marrying that old dust bag, if he had 
twenty millions. Now let's decide whether we'll 
have a quiet home wedding or elope. 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 19 

Mrs. Chase. (Smiling and slowly releasing her- 
self) I've never realized you were so elemental. 
Peter. You almost persuaded me. Rut we're 
neither of us at the impulsive age any longer, and we 
must think of consequences. 

Peters. For one thing, there are two things you 
appear to have forgotten completely, and that's those 
two impossible Jenkins children. Could anything 
be more incongruous than the sight of Mrs. Amelia 
Jenkins and Katherine going about with 

Mrs. Chase.- Peter, I don't know what you'll 
think, but I'm afraid I still have a lot of mother feel- 
ing in me. The thought of those poor children never 
having known a real mother 

Peters. Great Heavens ! You wouldn't be a real 
mother, and 

Mrs. Chase. I might to them. 

Peters. You don't have to marry Jenkins to be 
a real mother. I 

Mrs. Chase. But, Peter, you haven't any children. 

Peters. I never claimed to have. Though I 
should like some. But Jenkins' children. Pah! 

Julia. Mr. Jenkins is calling, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. (To Petersj Oh, I quite forgot. 
He telephoned he had forgotten some important con- 
sideration, and had some amendment to discuss. 

Peters. I simply can't see that — Jenkins. I'll 
just go into another room, while you get rid of him. 
Please don't waste any time. Then we'll settle about 
the wedding. (Goes out by door front left.) 

Mrs. Chase. Peter, I don't believe 

(Enter Julia, follozved by Jenkins. ) 

Julia. Mr. Jenkins, ma'am. (Goes out.) 
Mrs. Chase. I'm certainly complimented, Up- 
ton, to receive two calls in one morning. Won't you 
sit down? 



20 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

Jenkins. (Looking around room) I'm very much 
relieved to find you alone. I thought — at least Julia 
— I mean, I feared you would not be alone. 

Mrs. Chase. Did Julia say 

Jenkins. She — ah, gave me the impression some 
one else was calling, although she didn't say who 
it was. 

Mrs. Chase. Mr. Peters was calling, but he isn't 
here now. (Glances apprehensively at door.) 

Jenkins. Mr. Peters ! I feared it. That's one 
reason I came back. It seemed to me I didn't make 
entirely plain to you the disadvantages that might 
well result from a marriage to Mr. Peters. 

Mrs. Chase. (Ill at ease) But wouldn't it be 
better to discuss the advantages of marrying you? 

Jenkins. (Joyfully) Then you've decided? My 
dear • 

Mrs. Chase. (Hastily) No, I didn't mean that. 
I merely meant I thought you hadn't been over that 
very thoroughly. 

Jenkins. Very well, let us consider that first. I 
neglected to say with respect to my two daughters, 
who are of course very dear to me, that neverthe- 
less they have reached ages when they may well be 
sent to a boarding school, which would relieve 

Mrs. Chase. But that would be one of the rea- 
sons which might conceivably lead me to consider — 

Jenkins. My dear Amelia. What a wonderful 
woman you are. You are prepared to be a real 
mother to them? 

Mrs. Chase. Please, Upton, you go too fast. I'm 
not sure at all. How old are they? 

Jenkins. (Embarrassed) Why, I believe Susan 

— that's the older Let me see, she was born two 

years after my marriage, which was Dear me, 

I was never good at dates. (Takes out pocketbook 
and consults paper, and appears to be calculating.) 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, I mean just approximately. Or 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 21 

couldn't you come back to-morrow? You would 
have time to get everything looked up by then. 

Jenkins. (Absorbed) No, I'll have it in a mo- 
ment. Yes, Susan is just twelve. 

Mrs. Chase. Quite a difficult age. 

Jenkins. (Eagerly) But she'll soon be older, and 
Ella is only ten. 

Mrs. Chase. But when Susan is fourteen Ella 
will be twelve. Besides, I can't bear either name. 

Jenkins. Don't mind that. Both names could be 
changed. Let me see. What would you prefer? I 
have it. We could name Susan, Amelia, Jr. 

Mrs. Chase. Horrors ! 

Jenkins. It's a beautiful name. (Reflects.) Still, 
perhaps it would be better to save it for — for 

(Knob of door to room in which Peters is begins to 
turn and door to open.) 

Mrs. Chase. Mr. Jenkins ! (To Peters J Please 
stop. (Door closes.) 

Jenkins. (Somewhat bcivildered) I beg your 
pardon. Yes, certainly I'll stop. I do hope you'll 
forgive me. I 

Mrs. Chase. Perhaps we'd better discuss some 
other topic. How do you find business conditions ? 

Jenkins. (At home with this topic) I'm glad to 
find you are interested in business matters. Very 
few women are. Now, Mrs. Jenkins — er — as I said, 
few women take any interest in the important sub- 
ject of business. As to present conditions, I may 
say that while general conditions are certainly bad, 
and the sale of baby carriages has fallen off one- 
third, you will be pleased to learn that the sale of 
our specialty, "Mother's Delight," has nearly dou- 
bled. This remarkable carriage is equipped with the 
Bemis Bouncing Balance, which is so adjusted as to 
counteract the efforts of the infant to spring out. 



22 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

Mrs. Chase. How very interesting. And you 
haven't lost money in the stock market? 

Jenkins. Certainly not. I never gamble. And 
that reminds me. I have heard on the best of author- 
ity that Mr. Peters was caught on the wrong side 
of the market during the recent sensational decline 
of Mexican Petroleum. And there's another matter, 
which I dislike exceedingly to mention to one who 
has been sheltered from the unpleasant side of life, 
were it not that I feel it to be no less than my duty. 
Do 

Mrs. Chase. (Looking at door) I think I'd 
rather hear about the new baby carriage. 

Jenkins. Such preference is an excellent indi- 
cation of your refinement, Amelia, but I feel that I 
must go on. Do you happen to have heard of a cer- 
tain person — an actress named Mazie Mallory ? But 
no, of course no respectable person would know her. 

(Teters throws door open and rushes in, evidently 
very' angry.) 

Peters. I do know the girl you refer to, Mr. Jen- 
kins, and I must really ask you to be careful what 
you say about her. If you had had the good for- 
tune to know a few women like Miss Mallory you'd 

be a damned sight more (Controlling himself.) 

Pardon me, Amelia, but you'll admit 

Jenkins. I wish you to know, sir 

Mrs. Chase. Please, please. You both seem to 
have forgotten that I am here. 

Peters. Forgive me, Amelia. 

Jenkins. My dear Amelia, you must excuse my 
severity, although you will admit it was not without 
cause. (Looks coldly at Peters J And now perhaps 
Mr. Peters will explain his presence in your — 
your 

Mrs. Chase. It was the bathroom, I fear, 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 23 

Jenkins. Bathroom! I never heard of such ef- 
frontery. 

Peters. I will thank you, Jenkins, to keep your 
thoughts to yourself. Neither Mrs. Chase nor I care 
to listen to them. I may say, Amelia, that I mis- 
took your bathroom for your bedroom, and 

Jenkins. Bedroom ! I should say that was even 
more inexcusable. And I must say, Amelia, I don't 
mite understand your attitude in this matter, al- 
though 

Mrs. Chase. I think it's hardly necessary for you 
to understand, Mr. Jenkins. I really think it will be 
better not to continue this conversation at this time. 

Jenkins. (Taking his hat) I think you are right. 
I have no doubt it will be better for me to call to- 
morrow, which I will try to do. We can then, I trust, 
continue the discussion which was so unfortunately 
interrupted. (Looks significantly at Peters.) I 
ought to say, however, that I have in mind a some- 
what different idea with respect to my property. 

Mrs. Chase. I quite agree. Good-bye. 

Jenkins. Good-bye, Amelia. Perhaps it would 
be best for you to communicate with me by letter. 

Mrs. Chase. Yes. Or perhaps the telephone 
would be better. You may expect to hear from me 
to-morrow. (He goes out.) 

Peters. Thank heaven that's done. How you 
could ever have given a thought to that idiot, even 
partly in jest, is more 

Mrs. Chase. Calm yourself, Peter. He really 
isn't as bad as he seems to you. He has some good 
qualities, and then there's Katherine. She is getting 
quite beyond my income. I fear, Peter, you do not 
bring out Mr. Jenkins' good qualities. 

Peters. He hasn't any good ones. But let's for- 
get him. (Seriously.) Amelia. I believe there's no 
use putting things off. Don't you think it- would be 
better for us to get married quietly at once? I'm 



24 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

afraid you'll marry anyone who turns up, on ac- 
count of Katherine. 

Mrs. Chase. (Seriously) Peter, dear, I have 
to think of Katherine. Perhaps I ought not to, but 
she's become so accustomed to having all sorts of 
luxuries, and is so incapable of getting along with- 
out them — my fault, I'll agree — that I must think of 
her. Do you realize that she's seventeen ! And then, 
think of ourselves— our delightful relationship. We 
don't want to spoil it. We're both used to luxuries 
and you've been a free and independent bachelor for 
a long time. 

Peters. But I could change, I'm sure. 

Mrs. Chase. It's not so easy for an old leopard 
like you, Peter, to substitute stripes for spots. Espe- 
cially with your income so much reduced. 

(Enter Julia. ) 

Julia. Professor Willing is calling, ma'am. 

Mrs. Chase. Professor Willing? How delight- 
ful ! Tell him to wait, Julia. 

Julia. Yes, ma'am. (Goes out.) 

Peters. Is that John Willing? 

Mrs. Chase. I think so, Peter. 

Peters. (Walking about) I didn't know you 
knew him. Is he — that is 

Mrs. Chase. I don't know, Peter. I haven't 
known him long, but he seems very nice. (Reflec- 
tively.) I suppose he's poof, like most teachers. 

Peters. Poor! I should say not. On the con- 
trary, he's heavily endowed. Must be worth a mil- 
lion. But 

Mrs. Chase. A million ! Why, how surprising. 
I always had the idea that professors, though cul- 
tured and that sort of thing, were inclined to be poor. 
A million! That's four times three hundred thous- 
and, isn't it ? (She appears to be considering deeply.) 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 25 

Peters. Not quite. But it's fifteen times what 
I've got. However, it doesn't matter. He's very 
young, anyway. Not over thirty-two. (Takes her 
hands.) Let's discuss more important things. I do 
hope you'll agree with me, Amelia, that a quiet wed- 
ding is best. So just tell me when, and I'll go and 
see about a license and a lot of other things. And 
we mustn't keep Willing waiting longer. 

Mrs. Chase. (With sudden resolution) No, we 
mustn't keep him waiting. I'm sorry, Peter, dear, 
but I simply can't do it. I don't dare run the risk 
of spoiling our delightful friendship and substitut- 
ing what might be an unsuccessful marriage 

Peter, what is one-fifteenth of a million? 

Peters. (Releasing her hands and smiling just 
the least bit cynically) Whatever it is — I'm afraid 
it wouldn't be enough. Well, let's be friends, just 
as before.. I don't believe John — or Upton — or — or 
anybody, will object. 

Mrs. Chase. Peter ! What are you going to do ? 

Peters. Go back to the stock market. I ought 
to be especially lucky now. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, Peter! If you are. you'll let 
me know, won't you? 

Peters. (Smiling) I might. Good-bye. 

(Teters goes oat and Julia enters with flowers.) 

Julia. Prof. Willing couldn't wait, ma'am, but 
he left these flowers 

Mrs. Chase. How perfectly darling! Let me 
have them. What taste he has ! 

Julia. Yes, ma'am. He said to tell you 

Mrs. Chase. Wait a minute, till I put these in 
water. How wonderfully expensive they look. 

Julia. Yes, ma'am. 

(Telephone rings. Mrs. Chase answers it, holding 
flowers in hand.) 



26 THE WIDOW MIGHT 

Mrs. Chase. Hello ! Oh, how do you do ? It's 

so long since I've heard your voice, Mr. Ames 

What did you say? The wire buzzes so. Which do 
I prefer, purple orchids or American Beauties? Oh, 
Mr. Ames — how perfectly wonderful. Wait a min- 
ute (She rises, leaving the receiver hanging. 

To Julia.) 

Mrs. Chase. Julia, this is a moment. Purple 
orchids or American Beauties — or these darling gar- 
denias. It's so hard to choose. 

Julia. Oh, ma'am. Orchids and American Beau- 
ties? He must be awful rich. 

Mrs. Chase. Oh, he is. He has millions. Flow- 
ers like that are nothing to him. But they're a lot 
to me. They must mean — everything. He wouldn't 
want to send them unless — Julia, I think he wants 
to marry me. What shall I do? 

Julia. Well, ma'am, why not marrv him? 

Mrs. Chase. I would, but there's Professor Will- 
ing. He's such a charming man. 

Julia. Yes, but 

Mrs. Chase. And a million is quite enough, isn't 
it? 

Julia. Yes, ma'am, it would be for me, but 

Mrs. Chase. But millions are better, aren't they? 
I know what I'm going to do. (She seizes telephone 
again.) Dear Mr. Ames, why are you so good to 

me? Because of old times? Oh, you mean 

What's that? You're going away? For five years? 
The flowers are to say farewell for you ? Oh ! In 
that case I don't care which it is. I hate orchids 
and roses make me sneeze. Good-bye. (Hangs up 
receiver.) Julia, these are the loveliest flowers I 
ever saw. Put them in water at once. And don't 
bruise them, the dear things. I must write to John 
at once. Do you know where he lives, Julia ? I want 
you to take a note to him. I must see him before 
the dav is over. 



THE WIDOW MIGHT 27 

Julia. Yes'm. I know where he lives. He told 
me. He asked me to bring him an answer to his 
message. 

Mrs. Chase. His message ! What message ? 

Julia. His message to Miss Katherine. The flow- 
ers are for her. He wants to call on her to-night. 

Mrs. Chase. Katherine ? Oh ! (She tosses the 
flowers carelessly on to the divan. She speaks 
severely.) Julia, I have been interrupted quite 
enough this morning. Please call Mr. Jenkins and 
tell him I shall not be at home again for a month. 
No, make it a week. (She goes out while Julia 
calls a number on the telephone, but does not get it. 
In a few moments Mrs. Chase reappears in a 
charming lingerie costume which is mostly knicker- 
bockers.) 

Mrs. Cliase. Julia, I must get walking on my 
hands to-day. (She turns a cart-wheel.) Anyway, 
I've got that thing at last. 

Julia. Ain't you going to marry again? 

Mrs. Chase. (Reflectively) Well — I might. 



CURTAIN 



BILLETED. 

A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 
males, 5 females. One easy interior seer-. A charming comedy, 
constructed with uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. 
Margaret Anglin's big- success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy 
to produce and popular with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. 
Costumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2^ hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four hours? 
It is— at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," 
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, 
and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his 
fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tremendous comedy 
hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended 
as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
countrv can boast. Price, 60 Cents. 

IN WALKED JIMMY. 

A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, ? females (al- 
though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
etc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^2 hours. 
The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, 
when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in 
serious contemplation of suicide. 

Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious 
figun had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and 
his everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped 
that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the 
villain. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just 
a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
make "In Walked Jimmy" one cf the most delightful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is net a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 

An optimistic -comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author 
of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2\\ hours. 

It is altogether a gentle th.ag, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the vao\ 
telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment ?or the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 We? t 38th Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



Golden Days 



A comedy of youth, in four acts, by Sidney Toler and 
Marion Short. 7 males, 10 females. Three interior 
scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2y 2 hours. 

"Golden Days" is a play with all the charm of youth. 
It enjoyed a run of Sixteen weeks in Chicago with 
Patricia Collinge in the leading role, and was then 
brought to the Gaiety Theatre, New York, with Helen 
Hayes in the part of "Mary Anne." Price, 75 cents. 

Come Out of the Kitchen 

A charming comedy in 3 acts, adapted by A. E. Thomas 
from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 6 
males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2y 2 hours. 

"Come Out of the Kitchen." with Ruth Chatterton in 
the leading role, made a notable success on its produc- 
tion by Henry Miller at the Cohan Theatre, New York. 
It was also a great success at the Strand Theatre, Lon- 
don. A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, and 
we strongly recommend it for amateur production. 

Price, 75 cents 

His Majesty Bunker Bean 

A farcical comedy in four acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd, 
from the novel by Harry Leon Wilson. 12 males, 6 
females. Four interior scenes. Costumes, modern, Plays 
8 V 2 hours. Those who have laughed immoderately at 
Harry Leon Wilson's story will be greatly amused by 
the play, which tells the story of a cowed and cred- 
ulous youth who became kingly when he was tricked 
into believing himself a reincarnation of Napoleon. "His 
Majesty Bunker Bean," with Taylor Holmes in the title 
role, was brought to the Astor Theatre, New York, 
after a run of 25 weeks in Chicago. A delightful and 
wholesome farce comedy with no dull moments. 

Price, 75 cents 



A Full House 



A farcical comedy in three acts. By Fred Jackson. 
7 males, 7 females. One interior scene. Modern cos- 
tumes. Plays 2y 2 hours. This newest and funniest of 
all farces was written by Fred Jackson, the well-known 
short story writer, and is backed up by the prestige 
of an impressive New York success and the promise of 
unlimited fun presented in the most attractive form. 
A cleverer farce has not been seen for many a long 
day. "A Full House" is a house full of laughs. 

Price, 75 cents 

(The Above Are Subject to Roynlty When Produced) 

SAMl'EL FRENCH, 2S-30 West 58th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Q 
Free on Request 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



Clarence 




A comedy in four acts by Booth Tarkington, author 
of "The Man From Home," "Penrod," "'The Country 
Cousin," etc. 5 males, 5 females. Two interior scenes. 
Costumes, modern. Plays 2% hours. 

Clarence has no medals, no shoulders bars, no great 
accomplishment. One of the "five million," he served 
where he was sent — though it was no further than Texas. 
As an entomologist he found — on this side of the ocean — 
no field for his specialty in the great war. So they set 
him to driving mules. 

Now, reduced to civil life and seeking a job, he finds 
a position in the home of one, Wheeler, a wealthy Eng- 
elwood man with a family. And because he'd "been in 
the. army" he becomes guide, philosopher and friend to 
the members of that same agitated and distracted family 
group. Clarence's position is an anomolous one. He 
mends the bathroom plumbing, he tunes the piano, he 
types — off stage — he plays the saxophone. And around 
him revolves such a group of characters as only Booth 
Tarkington could offer. It is a real American comedy; 
and the audience ripples with appreciative and delighted 
laughter. 

Those marvelous young people, Cora and Bobby Wheel- 
er, are portrait sketches warranted to appeal to every 
one but the originals. Their truth will be lost on the 
"Flapper" and the "prep" school youth, but to their par-' 
ents and guardians, to all, indeed, who have emerged 
from the serious, self-conscious, period of adolescence, 
they will be an enduring joj r . 

"Clarence" , is a real delight. It is as American as 
"Huckleborry Finn" or pumpkin pie. It is as delight- 
ful as any native comedy which has tried to lure the 
laughter of this country in the last ten seasons. 

Price, 75 cents. 

Three Live Ghosts 

A comedy in three acts by Frederick Isham and Max 
Marcin. 6 males, 4 females (2 policemen). One interior 
scene stands throughout the three acts. Costumes, mo- 
dern. Plays 2 l / 2 hours. 

"Three Live Ghosts" is brim full of fun and humor and 
is sure to keep audiences in gales of laughter. The 
New York critics described it as the most ingenious 
and amusing comedy of the season and genuinely ?nd 
heartily funny. It played a full season in New York 
and then toured the big cities. A lively comedy of merit 
we can strongly recommend for amateur production. 

Price, 75 cents. 

(The Abov«» Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 



016 103 288 8 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 2S-30 West 3Sth Street, Xew York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed * 
Free o:i Request 



